


A Midnight Game

by vojavodun



Series: Acts of Aggression [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Fighting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vojavodun/pseuds/vojavodun
Summary: The Joker sneaks up on Bruce Wayne after a party and gets him alone to have some fun.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: Acts of Aggression [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1316288
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	A Midnight Game

**Author's Note:**

> There is no masked Batman in this, it's Bruce Wayne for real. 
> 
> I've got violence and dubious consent tagged, but it's light and mild.

The past few weeks had been relatively stress-free for Bruce Wayne. Batman wasn’t particularly active either: there were two minor busts, and that was it. He went in and out unscathed, broke things up quickly. That was something Batman was good at. 

He hadn’t seen the Joker in at least a month. His main source of stress was nowhere to be seen. Despite the Joker’s absence, Bruce Wayne didn’t look like the radiant, healthy man that was captured on camera, whose picture was occasionally published in magazines and newspapers, capturing the attention of many with his handsome face and mysterious, seductive smile.

Heavy dark circles lay under his eyes and accentuated his eye sockets, marring his otherwise flawless complexion. Anxiety bubbled inside him from an unknown source and seemed to flow nearly constantly, and though it may have been hiding, or smothered by a myriad of other things that occupied his mind, it showed on his handsome face. His dreary, hollow, handsome face. 

As much as it annoyed Bruce, he eventually came to pinpoint the feeling and acknowledge it in its entirety. Any uneasiness or stress he was feeling couldn’t have been placed on anybody but his elusive enemy. His number one stressor. _I’m fine_ , Bruce often reassured himself. When he looked in the mirror, sometimes he was convinced otherwise. Things were not alright. Anyone who knew him well could tell. 

One of the executives at Wayne Enterprises threw a party to celebrate a successful business deal that would bring the company substantial additional revenue. The group of partygoers wasn't very large and consisted of most of the other Wayne Enterprises executives, the architects of the project, and their partners. 

Though not always present at the office, Bruce Wayne was expected to be at the party, and he decided to go. On the day of the event he was still looking like he never got a full night’s rest. The circle under and around his left eye looked like a faded grayish-blue bruise, but it was just tiredness he couldn't shake off, and he could sell it off as such if anyone noticed. He decided the party would be a fine way to spend the evening and even drove himself to the event. 

He arrived fashionably late and tossed his keys to the valet. Sharply dressed in a fine black suit and smart shoes to match, Bruce Wayne was the most eye-catching person in the room, even when he didn't have a million-dollar smile on his face. He did his best to mingle and accepted some of the expensive liquor his colleague had out in the open for everyone's enjoyment, but it was bitter and a bit strong for his current taste, so he didn't drink much and spent most of the evening listening to conversation instead. No one seemed to notice how tired he looked, the dark shadow cast over his face. No one seemed to interpret his thin smile as a false one when it very much was, especially after the first half hour of the party. He was an imposing, enigmatic presence among the other partygoers. 

The party ended late at night, and Bruce left after shaking other people's hands for what felt like ten minutes at least. Some people were so talkative, holding Bruce’s hand for a second — or a few — too long, attempting to bring him back to a conversation, which he would curb with a formal and firm “goodnight” that no one attempted to challenge.

When he stepped outside, the valet was quick to bring up his car, parking it a little bit too abruptly and rushing out of the driver’s seat. He ignored the frown on Bruce’s face and, instead of holding out the keys for him to take, placed them on his hand and very quickly said, “Here you are, sir,” the fastest Bruce had ever heard those words spoken together. He wasn't prepared to have his keys forced into his hand like that and had to catch them midair after they fell off his fist. Bruce couldn't have reprimanded him, for the valet had already scurried off like a rat. Annoyed, Bruce sat inside his car, and pulled out of the drive.

A half moon was yellow and high in the sky. Since there wasn't much liquor in his stomach, his vision was clear and good for driving. He was ready for the night to end. The party was emotionally taxing, and he felt he had stayed for an hour too long. Bruce had just left the property and turned onto the main road when he heard a slow voice too clear to be formed by his imagination. 

“Don’t panic and kill us both, now.”

He heard a click, probably the release of a spring knife's blade. But he recognized that voice, so he didn't truly panic. He could recognize it out of a million others. Bruce Wayne glanced into the rearview mirror to see the Joker sitting in the backseat, his dark eyes glowing like a cursed cat’s. 

“Usually you're the one sneaking up on me, so I thought you’d like my surprise.” His voice carried an arrogant smirk and an unusual smoothness. He paused to allow Bruce a chance to respond, but he didn't, so he continued. “How was the party, my darling?” 

Bruce couldn't help his own scoff and smirk, looking both ways before making another turn. “Easy with that,” he said, referring to the Joker’s use of the term _darling_. 

“Of course,” the Joker leaned forward and touched the blade to Bruce’s cheek, his other hand clutching the driver’s headrest. He was awfully close and his hot breath just touched Bruce’s skin. He watched Bruce’s mouth twitch and met the gaze of his dark eyes as they flitted his direction for a fraction of a second. “Absolutely not. You don’t like to be called nice things, you’re too solemn.” Bruce gripped the steering wheel harder, and the Joker noticed and said: “Be careful, Bruce — right now you're responsible for not only your safety, but mine.” 

The characteristic roughness of the Joker’s voice was back, dark and intimidating. Bruce glanced at the Joker out of the corner of his eye. “Think about that before you patronize me again.” 

The Joker just laughed a serious, hearty laugh, too loud and too close to his ear. It would have brought Bruce immense satisfaction to choke it out of him. He didn’t like hearing that sound when there was nothing funny about the situation.

“If you think this is a free ride to my home, you're wrong,” Bruce said flatly. If that was the Joker’s idea, he would be sorely disappointed; Bruce would drive in circles all night long and bore them both to death before he took the Joker home with him. A part of him suspected, and sincerely hoped, that the Joker had something else in mind.

“I thought about that, you know. That's not it. Not now. But I wouldn't say no if you invited me.” He dragged the blade to his ear, tracing lines, just playing and getting on his nerves, not really intending to cut him. He huffed and pressed the flat side to Bruce’s shoulder, and put his other hand in his hair, disturbing its neatness and twirling what he could around his gloved fingers. “Let's play taxi — I'll tell you where to go.”

Bruce didn't say any more. The Joker gave him all the instructions he needed, but didn’t explicitly say where they were going. 

Nearly 15 agonizing minutes later, the Joker poked Bruce’s shoulder with a stiff finger and told him to park it. The building they had stopped at was clearly abandoned, and it even had some overgrowth on one of the exterior walls. He parked the car and the Joker, still hovering over his shoulder like a pest, ordered him out, then got out himself and shut the door with his foot.

“Lying low and out of sight? I haven’t seen you in a while,” Bruce said conversationally, allowing himself to be ushered in at knifepoint, surprised at how casual his own voice sounded. 

“Hm?” The Joker hummed, guiding him inside. As soon as they both entered the building, Bruce didn't feel the point in the small of his back anymore. The Joker closed the door behind them and turned back around. “Did you miss me? I keep myself busy.” He looked Bruce up and down shamelessly, gesturing with his knife at his body. “ _You_ look great.”

“You flatter me,” Bruce said in return, eyeing the dim, empty room they were in, avoiding the Joker’s burning gaze. 

The Joker took a slinking step forward and laughed, a harsh, jingling sound, his slouching shoulders rising and falling. “Oh—oh! Bruce—” he sounded delighted, and couldn’t get much more out through the noise he was making.

“What are we doing here?” Bruce interrupted his terrible fit of laughter. 

“Let’s have fun.”

“Your idea of fun is not the same as mine.”

“Indulge me,” said the Joker with a smile that made Bruce grow warm and unsettled at the same time. 

He turned it around. “You need to be held accountable.”

“Beating my brains in is one way to do that,” The Joker said with a sneer, and Bruce almost snorted, thinking it was somewhat funny for the Joker to say such a thing when he had tried to do the same thing to _him_ many times over by his own choice and with enthusiasm. The Joker raised a brow and smiled an annoying smile that didn't disappear even as he spoke: “But I can think of something better. We’ve tried it before, a couple times…”

The knife was still in the Joker’s hand but was lax by his side. Bruce eyed it with a raised brow, then looked back at the Joker’s face.

“What do you want?”

“Sometimes you ask the dumbest questions. I’ve had enough waiting.” Bruce’s facial expression apparently spoke for itself, and the Joker laughed. “I always work so _hard_ for you… give me an inch, or a couple, would you?” 

“You're not getting anything from me but a one-way straight to Arkham.” He said that before he realized the Joker’s innuendo, and his frown became deeper. 

A knife was then thrown at Bruce within an inch of his life, close to landing in his left cheek. It flew past Bruce's head so fast it nearly sounded like a fly buzzing in his ear. The knife clattered against the far wall and the Joker reached into his coat and retrieved another, this one with a slightly longer blade. 

“How do you like that?” He said, pointing the knife at Bruce. “Do you think I'll miss a second time?”

“You don't want to stick a knife in me that badly, do you?” Bruce asked, beginning to get irritated. He wasn't in the mood to stand there like a human dartboard, and wasn't going to make the effort to call the Joker’s bluff. He took off his suit jacket and discarded it on the dirty floor, and the Joker watched with wide open eyes. 

“You don't wanna play? Come and take it from me,” the Joker suggested, outstretching his arms, hunched over as he usually was.

He stood still as Bruce approached, but only when Bruce was about a meter away did he scamper away; it was a silly but good trick, and Bruce fell for it. He almost believed the Joker would act as straightforward as he talked. Bruce was obliged to follow him, and when the Joker turned his head around to see if he was being followed, his smile was so large it looked like it hurt his ghostly white face. 

Bruce tackled the Joker and tried to extract the knife from his grip, but it was difficult. He didn’t want to let go of it. 

They both were panting heavily in each other's faces, and the Joker wouldn't let go; neither would Bruce, not until he got that knife away. Suddenly the Joker let it go and became still as a corpse. It was like he gave up completely, and he allowed Bruce to take the knife away. Bruce was pleased to obtain it, a silver switchblade, and the Joker even let him examine it.

“A totem?” The Joker asked, licking his dry, painted lips.

“Perhaps… or maybe I just want to use it on you later.” 

“ _Oh?_ ” It was like a shade was pulled behind the Joker’s face, and something changed in his cold eyes. Though the change was minimal, Bruce noticed it. “Not you…” the Joker said, becoming cheery and annoyingly flirtatious again. “I don’t believe you.”

“How perceptive of you,” Bruce said with a sarcastic sneer of his own and a mock smile. “You read me like a book.” He pushed the blade down and took a second too long to decide what to do with it, then he tucked it away in his trousers pocket. 

“If you kept your jacket on, you could've put it in there,” the Joker said, tapping his fingers on the buttons of his waistcoat. “Now what, since you don't wanna cut me up?”

“It's up to you if you want to be conscious or unconscious when I turn you in.”

The Joker huffed and stopped moving his hands. He narrowed one of his dark eyes. “If you’re not gonna fuck me, why did you start taking your clothes off? I know you can fight me with a silly little jacket on.”

Bruce put more of his weight on the Joker’s shoulders, displeased at hearing the Joker say that so callously. Why was he caught by surprise? The Joker on more than one occasion had said and done things in Bruce's presence that made him seem like a sex-starved man. A sex-starved man starving for him. He should've seen that coming. 

“You might as well get that idea out of your head. That will be nothing but a fantasy for you.”

The Joker stretched beneath him and laced his fingers, resting his hands on his chest in a relaxed position. Interestingly, he didn't look bothered by what Bruce had said, and he moved on without even a sneer on his face, like he hadn't heard what he said at all. 

“You should be careful of what you say around me, I’ve been known to take things literally. If you say you wanna cut me up, I might believe it.” 

Bruce was surprised he had moved on from that, but a part of him was somehow disappointed, expecting the Joker to continue and try to seduce him. 

“Yet you also have a _wild_ imagination…” Bruce trailed off and pushed on the Joker’s shoulders with hardly any mind, just keeping him there, not hurting him whatsoever. “With you, anything anyone says is open to any interpretation, isn’t it?”

“How perceptive… you read me like a book!” The Joker felt that Bruce was about to get off so he suddenly pushed and grabbed Bruce around the neck like he was about to bring him in for a kiss, giggling all the while. “And you? Let me read some more…” his dark eyes traveled all over Bruce’s face, then he came to stare at his mouth. “You’ve got a busy mind like mine. It’s working right now.” 

For some reason, Bruce let the Joker speak uninterrupted and clutch the back of his neck, holding himself up above him with his bare hands against the rough ground. The Joker suddenly stopped like he lost his train of thought, and began to talk about something else.

“I adore your face. You know what I think about, day in and day out? Your gorgeous face. Hiding behind a mask. I adore it. I had a couple dreams about how ugly I made it. Long ones, too. Sometimes I wake up in a real bad sweat…” he licked his lips in between his heavy breaths, and paused as if he was thinking, “hm… a couple times, but it doesn’t take much for me to fall back asleep like a baby since I had you on my mind.”

Bruce just stared at him blankly. Disgust was beginning to pool in his stomach, and a confusing mix of other feelings that made him feel nauseous. Bruce pushed him away suddenly. 

The Joker began to laugh, amused at Bruce's strange expression. He would not stop laughing and was making so much noise doing so. Bruce pried his hands off once but the Joker didn't let him get away, cackling like a hyena and trying to impersonate a clinging vine. 

“Turn over,” Bruce ordered, pushing his grabby hands away again.

The Joker gradually stopped laughing and moving when he heard those words. “What?”

“Turn over.”

The Joker was frowning — or, rather, his mouth was stuck in a transition from a smile to a frown — but his eyes were glittering, and he did as Bruce said in the space that he allowed, turning onto his stomach. Uneasily. Slowly. He was pushing it. 

“You don't like what I said?” The Joker turned his head to look at him. “There's more!”

“Shut up,” Bruce said coldly and gravely. “Not another word.”

Touching the Joker's shoulders, he pushed him against the ground hard. The Joker let him do so, and was hopeful that he would finally get what he wanted. 

He had thought about the Batman having his way with him many times over, holding him down with his strong arms and fucking him mercilessly. The Joker also thought of doing what _he_ wanted to do to Bruce, with force or without — likely with force. He imagined Bruce would _hate_ it, and hate it like nothing else. That idea gave the Joker a real thrill, too. 

When he attached Bruce Wayne to Batman, he wasn't disappointed; though the mystery behind the mask was gone, his desires and fantasies not only remained, but grew. Bruce was gorgeous and built just like the Joker’s ideal man. In fact, he was: Bruce was perfect, and the Joker wanted every inch of him and all of his attention. In fact, knowing that Bruce was the one donning the Batman suit and mask night after night made him awfully jealous. 

He knew that Bruce Wayne — being a successful businessman and socialite — had an active social life, a large circle of peers, acquaintances, and friends, and significant influence, and he didn't like thinking about how many nights he potentially spent fucking other people. It especially hurt the Joker to think of Bruce loving someone else, fully committed, making love to someone else in his bed. It was a little hard to imagine him like that, though, since Bruce had always been cold and rough towards him, not passionate and loving. But he didn't mind that. He liked it. The Joker wanted to have Bruce completely, and he hoped he was about to get the treatment he had fantasized about for so long: to be the object of his attention and affection.

So the Joker was very, very disappointed when Bruce started to restrain him seriously with intent of turning him over to the authorities. He had unclipped his black tie from his shirt, took it off, and was going to use it to tie his wrists together. The Joker had gone so far daydreaming until he felt cloth around one of his wrists, and he jerked suddenly, getting upset. 

“Oh no, not yet!” The Joker said with determination. He felt like he had been deceived. 

The Joker started writhing and tried to snatch his hands free and get up. Bruce pushed back and tried to grab his arm to keep it behind his back, but the Joker had turned over between his legs and was in his face like a strong wind. They nearly touched noses, they were so close. He was giggling, laughing, cackling, and wouldn't say a word more, goading him on in other ways, daring him to try again. 

With another push, the jolly Joker was flat on his back again and Bruce was hovering over his chest, breathing heavily, his eyes dark and shining with adrenaline. His tie lay neglected and out of reach a few feet away. 

Neither of them moved for a few moments; the Joker’s laughing turned to soft giggles and then to heavy breathing while Bruce caught his own breath and stared at the Joker’s face. He brought his hands to his belt slowly to see what the Joker would do if he noticed that deliberate action.

The Joker didn't do anything when Bruce rested his hands there but continued to smile up at him sweetly with his hands on Bruce’s thighs, ready to push him if provoked. “Wanna try again? You almost had me!” 

Bruce didn't say a single thing and kept his thumbs hooked between his waistband and the soft skin of his lower stomach. Then he began to pull the strap of his belt out of the buckle, and the Joker’s smile disappeared faster than he could blink. Bruce stopped before he pulled it out completely, and he had to smile this time, more satisfied than he thought he would be. That smile was one that the Joker would never forget.

“What?” It was a silly thing to say but he said it anyways. He knew just exactly _what_. The Joker was already getting hot and bothered, betraying the mischievous, confident twinkle that was common to his eye. 

For some reason, Bruce removed his hands and placed them on his hips, leaving the end of his belt sticking out half undone. He couldn’t find the words to say, not a snarky, flirtatious, or sarcastic comment could he make. Bruce was frozen, looking down at the Joker with a cold expression on his face. He was unsure whether he should say something else, and if so, what; finish undoing the belt and shove his cock in the Joker’s mouth; or correct himself and secure it in the buckle. Though Bruce had done it on a whim, a sudden impulse, it was too late to take it back. If he tried to buckle his belt again, the Joker would surely do something about it, whether that be incessant whining, complaining, laughing, or fighting. 

The Joker looked comically incredulous for a second, but then that expression disappeared and was placed with a calmer, cooler one. As he lay there on the hard ground looking up at Bruce, he realized the man wasn’t going to do anything, so he took action himself, and though his expression didn’t let on that he was anxious, his fingers shook when he pulled the strap out of the silver buckle and pulled the entire belt out of his dress trousers. Bruce didn’t stop him.

There were several things the Joker wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if he should press his luck. He had a good, strong feeling that Bruce Wayne hadn't unbuckled his belt so he could tie him up or whip him with it, and he didn’t want to sabotage the moment by running his mouth.

Bruce's cock was becoming harder by the second the longer he was perched above the Joker, one knee either side of his ribcage. Though the clown’s eyes were wide and trained on his face instead of his crotch, the Joker had noticed it, clear as anything. His cock was entirely hard and his bulge was impossible to ignore, and if Bruce felt he had made a mistake by leading the Joker on, it was far too late. 

Seeing Bruce like this made a smile return to the Joker’s face, entirely intrigued and surprised by how this was unfolding. 

“Well,” the Joker said, licking his lips and unbuttoning Bruce’s black trousers, “wanna pull my hair? That would help keep me up.” He strained himself, leaning up uncomfortably as he pulled down the zipper. Then he bit the fingers of the glove of his dominant hand, pulled it off with his teeth, and placed it aside.

Bruce didn’t do anything at first, but then did what was asked of him when the Joker pulled his trousers down enough to expose his cock, and chased it with face before sucking it into his mouth. A heavy breath Bruce had been holding in escaped his lips as he ran his hands through the Joker’s stringy hair, clutching the back of his head and keeping him partially upright. Even with that little support, the position hurt the Joker’s neck and back, but he didn’t complain; he had the cock of Bruce Wayne — the Batman — in his mouth, filling his mouth and resting heavy on his tongue, and he savored it.

Seeing the Joker beneath him with his dick in his mouth, eager and putting effort into sucking him off, made him incredibly hard, and if he wasn't fully turned on before, he certainly was when the Joker clutched the backs of his thighs and took more of him in, focused on stuffing his mouth. When the Joker pulled back, looked up, and saw Bruce looking at him transfixed, he let his cock drop out of his mouth and had the largest shit-eating grin on his face that Bruce had ever seen. 

Though Bruce was the one getting his dick sucked, the Joker was playing with him, stopping every now and then to catch his breath and giggle like he thought this was an extremely funny, riveting moment. He was getting a real thrill out of it, stroking the part of Bruce’s cock that wasn’t in his mouth with his warm, pale hand, and gripping the back of his right thigh with the other, moaning and humming like he was eating something delicious and satisfying. While he occasionally giggled, the Joker didn't break away to say anything — not a single remark, not to make fun of Bruce for giving in, for taking his cock out even though he claimed he didn't want to and wouldn't — and instead kept his mouth occupied in another way, licking along his length and sucking with enthusiasm. Bruce had had enough of letting the Joker have his way. If he was going to get dirty with the Joker, he was going to take charge. 

Bruce gripped the base of his cock and pulled the Joker’s head away by his hair. It was like he was returning to reality, where the Joker was his enemy, a person who disgusted him, and he was fully realizing what was happening. The man he loathed the most was beneath him and sucking his cock like he did it regularly, fully enjoying himself. The corners of the Joker’s mouth were upturned, about to break out into a big smile.

The Joker hummed, rolling his eyes at Bruce salaciously, and said: “It’s too good to be true.” 

“Open your mouth,” Bruce ordered soberly, his voice beautifully deep and textured, music to the Joker’s ears. He thought: _I thought you’d never ask!_ The Joker kept eye contact steady as he opened his mouth without any kind of remark or complaint, inviting Bruce to do as he wished with it.

So Bruce began to fuck the Joker’s mouth, his cock enveloped in satisfying heat, the Joker’s tongue sliding along its underside. Bruce pulled the Joker’s head closer and closer until he was choking him on it. Bruce wasn't small, but somehow the Joker didn't gag, but he did sputter. He gasped for breath when Bruce pulled out completely and stroked his wet cock in front of his face. The carmine red paint on and around the Joker’s mouth was smeared by his spit, diluting the color so Bruce could see his pink lips and murky complexion through it.

Bruce swore under his breath, momentarily staring at the Joker’s dark, shiny eyes, and the two tears that escaped. “You talk so much, who'd know your mouth is good for something else…” Bruce said, secretly impressed beneath his disdain, his breathing heavy and voice deeper than it usually was when he wasn't putting on a front.

The Joker licked his wet lips of excess spit and smiled like he found that funny. “Are you proud of me?” He smugly asked. He perked up at the praise, and so did his cock; he was completely hard and straining beneath his trousers, anxious for more. 

The look on Bruce’s face was enough to make him burst into laughter for real, but it was short-lasting and he was out of breath, half from heavy guffaws and half from exerting himself when he had Bruce’s cock down his throat. 

Bruce preferred the Joker’s mouth shut, or, in this case, full. But instead of putting his cock back in his mouth, he dropped the clown, and his head hit the floor before he could do anything about it. The Joker made a sound mid-giggle like a surprised yelp, not expecting to be manhandled so suddenly, and his hands flew up in defense, preparing for Bruce to hurt him some more.

Bruce had reached the point of no return. A mix of intense, conflicting feelings and powers of disgust, allure, compulsion, and impulse had taken over, fighting in Bruce’s head and creating a garbled, overwhelming mess. But the Joker was beneath him, eager for him and breathing hard, ready for what he felt was inevitably coming, and Bruce couldn't resist any longer. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he really liked seeing the Joker a sex-hungry mess beneath him.

The Joker was still making sounds beneath him: soft groans and high-pitched giggles that lingered in the air like dense fog, encircling Bruce and lighting another spark in his gut, sounds so loud that not even the heavy pounding of his heartbeat drowned them out.

Bruce was sick of him, and all he wanted to do besides get off was put the Joker in his place, and right now, that was beneath him and at his mercy. 

The Joker was lightheaded from laughing so hard and having his throat fucked that he let Bruce turn him onto his stomach, and he didn't notice his hands roving beneath him until he bumped his hard cock in a search for his zipper. The Joker stopped laughing and his mouth went slack as he felt Bruce fumbling with his zipper, attempting to pull it down. 

“Oh—” the Joker said. The word floated on a very light breath. He lifted his hips to help, but Bruce didn't like that. He bunched the cloth of the Joker’s coat at the back of his neck and lifted his face a few inches just to push it back onto the ground, causing the start of a serious headache. Bruce pulled his purple trousers down the Joker’s legs roughly and carelessly. 

The Joker wanted to see Bruce readying himself and tried to push himself up since his arms and hands were free, but Bruce wouldn't have it and pressed him flat against the ground again. Lying there uncomfortably, he felt the Batman's strong arm beneath his hips, lifting them up and angling them in preparation for what was coming next. 

The Joker must have been incredibly warm, still dressed in everything but his trousers, but Bruce didn’t care, and continued to keep a tight hold of him, his own forehead covered in sweat, his skin steaming hot. 

Like his ears were full of cotton, the Joker was disoriented and didn't hear what Bruce was doing; his senses were all over the place, scrambling to capture what exactly was going on. He wasn't sure if Bruce spat on him or on his own hand, but he felt his cock against his ass and jerked forwards in surprise. But Bruce pulled him back and kept him close.

In the same moment that the Joker realized Bruce Wayne was going to fuck him for real, Bruce pushed in without warning. 

The Joker made a loud, obscene sound and was trembling against him and groaning lowly by the time that Bruce had buried himself fully. All the mental protests aside, Bruce couldn't help but be satisfied at the Joker’s reaction and the feel of him around his cock. 

“Come on, you know I want it—” the Joker blabbered, the tone of his voice dangerous, apparently wanting Bruce to get on with it already. 

“Shut up,” Bruce ordered through clenched teeth, holding back a groan as he began to move, still holding the Joker’s head against the ground, causing it to bleed.

The Joker had dreamed about this so many times he couldn't count them all, and this was far better than even the most vivid scenarios he had conjured in his imagination. Bruce's cock filled him so nicely and his mouth was agape as his ass was roughly used. No preparation meant it really hurt, but he liked it nonetheless.

Most of the Joker’s fantasies didn't involve Bruce — Batman — having sex with him passionately and sensually, that kind of loving care that someone would give to their romantic partner, and he wasn't let down. 

Bruce Wayne held his hips tightly and fucked him hard. The heat was building inside of him and outside. Sweat began to appear on his forehead, the nape of his neck, and the small of his back, but he refused to take off his shirt or get entirely naked in the Joker’s presence. He pulled out abruptly and the Joker began to protest straight away, muttering half-garbled no’s and complaints that failed to reach Bruce’s ears — or, perhaps he heard them but didn't care. 

Bruce licked his hand and stroked himself a few times before he turned the Joker over onto his back, revealing a scrape on his forehead from where he had pushed his head against the floor, the blood stark on his pale, white face. The Joker’s pupils were blown and trained on Bruce’s own eyes, and for a moment Bruce didn't want to break away.

One of the Joker’s hands flew up to stroke his own exposed cock, but Bruce smacked it away and pulled him closer by his legs, causing his shirt to ride up his back, exposing more of his flat, pale stomach. 

“Oh…” the Joker groaned so filthily that Bruce's cock lurched, “I'm about to come.” He wasn't touching his cock anymore and his hands were instead near the bottom hem of Bruce’s shirt, and he balled the white fabric in his fists, leaning up slightly. He had to laugh when Bruce pushed his hands away and pressed them at his sides. 

“You're so fucking handsy,” Bruce muttered. But the Joker wasn't annoyed, offended, or deterred by the statement. It was probably as close to dirty talk as he would get, and the Joker liked it. Bruce licked his hand again and stroked his cock a few times in the Joker’s sight, causing the giggles to effectively cease.

The Joker wanted Bruce to say something else, but the man didn't say a single word, too absorbed in what he was doing. Bruce was determined to get off and finish the job, but, if he was going to fuck the Joker just as he had been practically begged to (or at least alluded to) time and time again, he was going to hurt him while doing it. 

Bruce re-entered him with a relatively smooth slide, but there was hardly time to savor that, for Bruce had leaned over the Joker and was beginning to choke him, effectively keeping him from talking or making any other sounds. 

Oxygen was not entering his system, and his hands flew to Bruce’s hand at his neck. But he didn't pull at it with any real force. It had all been stripped away. To make matters worse, Bruce was speaking hotly into his ear, and he couldn't understand what he was saying. He recognized an intensely rough and low whisper, so sensual that the Joker had to squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn't look right up at Bruce’s face and hear him talk like that at the same time. The Joker wanted to scream, but he couldn't. _Speak up! Touch me!_ If only Bruce could hear his thoughts. If only he knew what Bruce was saying. 

The air was hot and thick and enveloped them both. The only sounds of breathing to be heard were Bruce's labored breaths, and he let go of the Joker’s throat when he saw his eyes roll up. The Joker thought he was going to burst, and he wheezed painfully. It sounded like some kind of warped scream when he exhaled. 

Bruce sneered at him, breathing heavily as he slowed his pace momentarily as he spoke, and he gripped the Joker around the throat again, their faces mere inches apart. 

He wasn't sure if Bruce was belittling him or praising him, though he doubted that strongly; he could have been calling him a monster or a pathetic excuse of a man, but he didn't care, nor did it matter; all of his words were becoming jumbled together and it was too much all at once. His hot breath on his face, his cock in his ass, his hands on him, and his textured voice all contributed to the sensory overload that sent him over the edge. 

All of a sudden the Joker was coming with a cutoff groan, catching Bruce by surprise as he looked down to see the Joker had shot his load all over them both. 

“Fuck... you're always making a mess.” The Joker caught that sentence and he giggled once, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Was that a joke? He didn't even lift a finger, his fighting energy completely gone. 

“I'm not like this with anyone else,” he told him with shining eyes and a crooked smile, tilting his head so Bruce could see the bliss on his face. “That should make you feel good about yourself.” 

The Joker missed the next thing Bruce said — perhaps he called him a disaster — but he had increased the pace and was now pursuing his own release. 

The Joker had become cheeky and pulled Bruce forward with his legs, causing him to lose his balance and fall on top of him flat, just barely stopping himself from landing on the Joker with his full body weight.

Bruce slapped the Joker in the face once he pushed himself up, and by that time, the Joker was on his way to becoming hard again, and choked on a laugh that failed to come out when Bruce hit him again and sped up.

The fun soon ended, and Bruce slipped out at the last second before he shot his load over the Joker’s groin and lower stomach. His breathing was heavy and resonated loudly in the room as he dropped his cock and leaned back on his heels. 

The Joker sat up slowly like he was dealing with vertigo. Bruce didn't look away as the Joker dragged a finger through the mess on his stomach and put it in his mouth.

“Hm…” he sucked on his finger and then went back in for another taste. His voice was light and unstable when he said: “You don't disappoint me.” 

Damn it when Bruce said: “Satisfied?”

The Joker’s cock was still hard and out in the open, and he looked down at it, and then up at Bruce, inviting him to take a look. His black eyes spoke for him; he wanted Bruce to finish the job for real, to get him off again. It seemed like he got hard again so fast. But Bruce wouldn't do it. He would not. He was done for the night. 

The Joker saw the look of disdain in his eyes and laughed hysterically as he leaned up to get closer to Bruce’s face.

“Am I not simply irresistible?” The Joker said, his textured voice settling around him heavily. But Bruce refused to answer the way the Joker hoped he would. He wouldn't admit it like that.

“I can’t ignore you....” Bruce said pointedly, getting off the floor. He began to dress himself.

“I am,” the Joker said in return. He grabbed his purple trousers and fixed his position to pull them up his legs, laying back and lifting his hips off the ground to do so. 

“‘I am’ what?” Bruce muttered, tucking in his white shirt that was now streaked with dirt from touching the ground. 

“Irresistible. You can pretend, but I see right through you…” the Joker stood and tucked his own shirt in, then zipped his trousers. When he was done he stepped towards Bruce until he was about a meter away. “Bruce. You're like… my _boyfriend_.” He fixed his heavy purple coat over his slouching shoulders, then licked a finger and ran it over his eyebrow. “You’re always chasing me… thinking about me…” he trailed off, looking into Bruce’s eyes with an unwavering stare while his heart beat hard in his chest. 

Bruce closed the distance, and this time the Joker took a step back, maintaining that meter distance between them, a tentative half-smile on his painted face. 

“I can’t ignore you, running around like nothing matters, putting other people’s lives in danger. Don’t get it confused,” he told the Joker somberly, putting his belt back in the loops without looking at it. But was the Joker getting it wrong? Bruce hadn’t forced the Joker into anything; the Joker hadn’t forced him to pull his dick out and put it in his mouth, then his ass. Bruce had made those decisions himself, and he was now coming to terms with them. Perhaps _he_ was getting it confused. 

“You can try to convince yourself of whatever you want, but I know better. I know you…” the Joker licked his red lips and sneered. 

Bruce didn’t want to talk to him anymore, and the Joker saw a dark expression on his handsome face that he imagined was beneath the Batman mask when they met during a hostile and dangerous situation. A look that made his blood run cold. The Joker loved to see it and he laughed, a true, resonating cackle that reminded Bruce of how obnoxious and evil he was. 

“You need me! You do. You need me,” the Joker said before Bruce tried to insult him or continue to spin a delightfully interesting yarn of denial about never fucking him again. He could try to lie and make excuses, but the Joker saw and pushed through that. As he had been discovering, Bruce wasn't a very good liar when it came to the Joker and his cock. And even if he wasn't lying about certain aspects of those things, the Joker enjoyed finding a crack and applying pressure to make him break.

“Like _that_?” It was such a simple thing, and Bruce said it incredulously, but so calmly, darkly, and with a sneer that nearly hurt the Joker’s feelings. Bruce fished his car keys out of his pocket and made for the exit, but the Joker was right behind him like a shadow after he picked his discarded glove off the ground. 

The Joker walked faster to get ahead once they were out the door of that depressing building and put his hand on Bruce’s chest before he could reach the car. They stood outside beneath a dark bulb attached to the building's exterior above the door. It was dark and quiet; the only other sounds were the soft clicks and chirps of restless insects. 

“Let's say — well, I _will_ say it, because I am.” He got all up in Bruce’s personal space. Just inches separated them. “I'm still hard. You're not telling me that if I made you suck my cock, or if I said I wanted you to fuck me again, work me over, and get me off, you wouldn't be hard as a rock—” he raised a brow, “are you?”

For some reason, Bruce fought back a nearly uncontrollable smile that wanted to appear on his face. Here was yet another question that pissed him off. Unwilling to piece together something about erections being a normal response to certain stimuli, and also unwilling to flat-out say yes, Bruce covered it up and said: “Asking questions you already know the answers to is a waste of time. And breath.” 

The Joker began to frown at that ambiguous, deflective answer, but when he saw a smile on Bruce Wayne’s face, a small one that lasted for half a second like a flash, he began to smile too, showing his dull, yellow teeth in all their awful brilliance. Then he leaned in and planted a hard, short kiss on Bruce’s inviting mouth, pulling away after a second. 

The Joker laughed. He laughed and laughed as Bruce began to blush. He couldn't see it well under the dim light but he knew Bruce was turning colors. Caught off guard, angry, or turned on again — the Joker reckoned Bruce was all three. 

“Get out of here.” Bruce put his hand on the Joker’s shoulder, pushed him aside, and walked towards the driver’s side of his car. “My god, you’re fucking greedy.” Bruce didn't say it like he was entirely annoyed; there was something else light in his voice, almost like he was amazed at the Joker’s persistence and insistence in getting close to him. The Joker wasn't sure if Bruce had intended him to hear that, but he did hear, and it didn't do a thing to help his erection. 

“I’m good for another round!” The Joker said, disappointed that Bruce wouldn't admit what he already knew, disappointed that he was going to leave just like that. “You don't wanna help me out, or at least take me home?”

The Joker was surprised to see Bruce turn around and lunge at him, and he just barely evaded his grasp. He shrieked and put a few meters between them. The Joker would not risk another tussle with Bruce if he was actually getting mad and riled up, especially not after being fucked senseless. He had been given a free pass to scatter, and he wouldn't jeopardize it now. He wasn't stupid, after all. 

With a merry sparkle in his rough voice, the Joker said: “Until next time, Batman!” He took a couple steps backwards to showcase his frightening and somehow endearing grin before he turned his back and disappeared into the darkness, creeping back towards the heart of the city like the malignant disease he was.

**Author's Note:**

> This took so long and is pretty weak and soft compared to the previous three, and it will close the series out. Thanks for reading !


End file.
